to a passion of tears and sobs, pressing her lips
again and again to the brow, the cheek, the lips of the dead--those pale
lips that for the first time failed to respond to her loving caresses.

But with a wild shriek the new-made widow went into strong hysterics;
and, resuming her self-control, the little girl left the dead to wait
upon and console the living parent.

"Mamma, dearest mamma," she said, in quivering tones, putting her arms
about her mother, "think how blest he is; the angels are even now
carrying him home with songs of gladness to be forever with the Lord; and
he will never be sick or in pain any more."

"But what is to become of me?" sobbed her mother. "I cannot do without
him, if you can. You couldn't have loved him half so well as I did or you
would never take his loss so quietly."

"O Mamma!" cried the child, her tone speaking deeply wounded feeling, "if
you could know _how_ I loved him!--my dear, dear father! Oh, why am I
left behind? why could I not go with him?"

"And leave your mother all alone!" was the reproachful rejoinder. "But
you always loved him best; never cared particularly for me; and never
will I suppose," she added, going into a stronger paroxysm than before.

"O mamma, don't!" cried Evelyn, in sore distress. "I love you dearly too;
and you are all I have left." She threw an arm about her mother's neck as
she spoke, but was thrust impatiently aside.

"You are suffocating me; can't you see it? Help me to bed in the next
room, and call Hannah. She perhaps will have sense enough to apply
restoratives."

But both Lester and Elsie had come to her aid, and the former, taking her
in his arms, carried her to the bed, while Evelyn hastened to call the
nurse who had for the past week or two assisted in the care of him who
now no longer needed anything but the last sad offices.

Laura's grief continued to be very violent in its manifestations, yet did
not hinder her from taking an absorbing interest in the preparation of
her own and Evelyn's mourning garments. She was careful that they should
be of the deepest black, the finest quality, the most fashionable cut; to
all of which the bereaved child--a silent undemonstrative mourner--was
supremely indifferent. Her mother noted it with surprise, for Evelyn was
a child of decided opinions and wont to be fastidious about her attire.

"Flounces on this skirt, I suppose, Miss? how many?" asked the
dressmaker.

"Just as mamma pleases; I do no